


You Can't Put Your Arms Around a Memory

by fckyeahgallavich



Series: Canon fill-in [8]
Category: Shameless (US), gallavich - Fandom
Genre: Emotional Hurt, M/M, Memories, Reflection, Self-Reflection, Struggling with Emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 10:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22191094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fckyeahgallavich/pseuds/fckyeahgallavich
Summary: Set after 10x09 somewhere in 10x10 before he goes to give Mickey's shirt back. Ian struggles with the idea of them being completely over, though he'd like for everyone (including himself) to believe that it's simply over.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Canon fill-in [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/854672
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	You Can't Put Your Arms Around a Memory

So Mickey wanted to move on? Fine! If Mickey was done, then Ian was _double_ done. And to prove it, Ian was going to return Mickey's shit to him.

The "sexy" Hawaiian shirt, the plaid button-down he'd worn the night of their kiss at The Fairy-Tail, some CDs Ian rarely even listened to anymore, the flask Mickey'd given him on his 16th birthday... the birthday everyone forgot because of the mess going on about the house...

Yep! He was returning all of it! Just... just as soon as he found a box or something...

Yep, done!

...

Ian bit his lip, knowing his gut was trying to tell him something from the way it fluttered and then tore up as his eyes roved the little collection of things that somehow perfectly defined Mickey. _His_ Mickey.

No! No, _not_ his Mickey! _His_ Mickey didn't play games like this, _his_ Mickey understood Ian better than anyone and loved him despite his faults and fucking _forgave_ those faults, and _his_ Mickey would understand why this step fucking scared the ever-loving shit out of him.

 _His_ Mickey was joyful like the hibiscus flowers on that bright green and orange shirt, but serious and a little coarse like the flannel... Ian's favorite flannel.

After Mickey went away to prison for the first time, Ian had slept in that flannel during the winter until it eventually lost Mickey's scent. Then it just made him sad to look at knowing that Mickey was _gone._ It was such a stark contrast to the way Ian had cuddled and sniffed at it the afternoon after their night out at Ryan's when he'd inhaled the garment so deeply he'd burned Mickey's smell into his nostrils and wasn't at all deterred when the shirt lost Mickey's scent because he knew he could just have Mickey wear it again next week and it would be perfect again.

Mickey _was_ Alice in Chains and Guns N Roses. Mickey _was_ The Killers and Florence + the Machine and Tool. He _was_ that eclectic mix of sounds because _Mickey_ was more than just what one glance will show. Ian picked up the Guns N Roses album and turned to sit on their bed... his bed. He and Mickey loved listening to this album so much that Mickey'd lifted a second copy just so they'd always have it on them when they wanted to get high together. He hated sharing earbuds so whenever they could they used an actual stereo. _Anything for Mickey's comfort,_ Ian thought to himself without any bitterness. His words, he knew, sounded bitter, like he hated compromising for Mickey's grumpy ass but... It never felt like compromise.... until now.

Well, they _had_ been through Hell and back together... They'd been assaulted and abused and tossed around and separated and reunited and separated again... And through it all Mickey'd never stopped fighting for him... Even when Ian had given up on fighting for himself or Mickey or both.

Fuck...

Ian tossed the CD down and grabbed the Hawaiian shirt -- he knew the flannel had no more of Mickey's scent on it, but maybe... No go. Musty from sitting around without a wearer to give it shape or breath, life.

Ian sighed deeply, the pricking sensation from tears threatening to spill sending a thrill of irritation through him.

No. Tears.

He'd already cried in front of Mickey last night and it didn't do _jack._ So why do it in private?

...

Because tears aren't performative and Ian hadn't cried last night to try manipulating Mickey into coming home with him. God, Ian was a real shit for thinking that way for even a _moment!_

The tears had been genuine so why was he pissed at these ones just because no one was around to see them?

"ARGH!" Ian groaned aloud, striking the tears away from his eyes with sharp fingers and the heels of his palms... Just like _fuckin Mickey!_

_Would anything not remind him of Mickey?_

He collapsed back against the wall, head colliding with the plaster with a _thud!_ He groaned in response, merely closing his eyes and drawing all of his inner focus to the pain, embracing it. It's not like he didn't deserve it, thinking Mickey was just going to _fall_ into his arms and come home with him just because he bought him a nice ring. Ian sighed again, then groaned internally at realizing how much he was doing that, sighing. Ugh. Like Debbie when she thought she was love-sick or some shit at 13. He sat up, grunting with the effort, and rubbed at his still slightly throbbing head.

Biting his lip, he gazed upon the items he still had, picking up the flask and rotating it in his fingers. Blood crusted against the edges from where he and Mickey had once shared it after the fight with Terry when Mickey came out. 

... God, Mickey'd been so brave... and... and selfless, coming out _for_ him. Tears rimmed his eyes once again but he didn't stop them this time. He allowed the beads of salt water to fall easily from his eyes, one dropping on one of the blood stains. Ian ran his thumb across the stain, the blood freed from its dried form and streaking across the stainless steel coating of the flask. _Whose blood was it?_ Ian wondered idly. His, Mickey's, both?

Standing up from the bed, he placed the flask on top of his dresser -- _their_ dresser.

Their history was far too long for things to be over _just like that._ And from the way his heart swelled and swirled in his chest just from remembering how Mickey _literally_ fought for him, Ian knew it was time he did the same.

He wiped their blood on the strap of his tank top and carefully re-folded the Hawaiian shirt, stacking their CDs on top, and gingerly replaced the items to their former resting place on a shelf. The plaid shirt... that was what he needed. 

He needed to make a point and needed to see if there was anything else there. Any recognition in Mickey's eyes... That was what Ian was looking for. Just a chance.


End file.
